Moriarty's Sister
by VOldBunny
Summary: Introducing a new character into the mix.  Pre-Reichenbach Falls.    IF YOU REVIEW I WILL GIVE YOU METAPHORICAL COOKIES :D
1. Chapter 1  Meeting Sherlock

_**Chapter 1 Preface**_

It was a large dark room with no windows and two doors, the room was the top floor of a flat in north London, and it was intended for meetings. Not conventional meetings, where opinions are discussed and decisions made, this particular one was a meeting of anonymous and open figures, looking for drugs, money or both. In the centre of the room stood a large circular table, with 12 chairs around the edge. Accomplices or friends of those at the meeting were scattered around the room, or leaning over peoples shoulders as the insults went on. Or in this case, gambling. The majority of the figures around the table were youths looking to pay off debts or simply seeking drugs to sell on or keep for themselves. One of them however was there out of habit, not necessity. The figure had a large black cloak that covered their eyes and broad bulky torso descending into black skinny leg jeans. The game of choice, tonight, was blackjack. Which suited the figure just fine, blackjack was their speciality.

**Chapter 1: My first meeting with Sherlock Holmes**

The other 11 people sitting around the table were there for a variety of reasons, it was funny analysing their faces and their moves, guessing why they are here. I was directly to the left of the dealer which is a very good spot to be if you know anything about blackjack. I'd got the spot because I know the dealer, I'm a regular of sorts. He knows I'm fussy though, I don't get mixed up in any of the drugs, I don't want any trouble, he respects that, which is part of the reason why always get to sit on his left in blackjack. We played several games as a 'warm up' with prizes of £1 or £2. Then would be full game where everyone went all in. In the background, people swapped packets for cash. As the final cards were dealt, the dealer winked at me. I glanced at the two cards, a jack and an ace. I smiled. And placed them back down on the table. I refused all the remaining hits as the game went on, as the game concluded, the other figures complained bitterly, thumping their fists on the table.

Suddenly a boy, who couldn't be older than 13 burst though the door, "Jake!" Somebody called. "The cops are downstairs! Get out, get out!" Jake yelled. Everyone grabbed their winnings off the table, this had happened before, we were all prepared for this. I grabbed my own money, jamming it in my backpack, racing out of the back door with everyone else. I heard police climbing the stairs and bursting though the door, "This is a drugs bust!" One of them yelled, we only ran faster. The back door led onto a small balcony, from there you could climb onto the roof, and from the roof, you could jump a few buildings then climb down again, any direction you wanted, it was a fairly safe escape route. I was feeling lazy today, usually I gave the entire area a wide berth before jumping down, least I bump into the police. Unfortunately for me, I followed a bunch of other people who jumped down after only 3 blocks, as we climbed down a drainage pipe, we turned a corner and walked straight into the police. A tall man with grey-black hair and grey eyes looked up at us with a smirk on his face. And at first nobody moved. A slim woman with dark skin and messy brown hair glanced over at him "Lestrade?" She enquired. He nodded once, and all at once the rest of the police behind him, carrying guns and riot shields charged forwards. Perhaps they thought we were part of the reminder from the august riots? It didn't matter to me.

Some people say, if you get confronted by the police, running away is always a mistake, because when they do catch you, the sentence will be worse. However, in my case, being caught was simply not an option. I turned around and legged it. I ran up one street, barely wide enough for cars, with congealed rubbish all the way along the edge and onto a main road. Traffic swooped past me, I pulled off my rather conspicuous cloak and kept running. None of the other people from the room had followed me, that was good, I liked to keep my face unknown. I dived into another empty alley way and pulled off my huge, bullet-proof, shoulder-padded jacket. I liked to trick people into thinking I was a man, and it mostly worked, and it made my life easier. I pulled on a dark purple zip up hoodie over my black crop top. Throwing my backpack over my shoulders, I walked out of the alleyway. The police were no where to be seen. I relaxed, I absent mindedly walked towards the nearest bus station. It couldn't hurt to get away from the scene for a while.

I ended up on Belgrave road. I began browsing an estate agent window, I had quite some savings now, I might as well invest in something. But buying a house in Belgravia then paying in cash isn't exactly a good way to keep a low profile. I lost interest in the houses, why bother looking?

"You would really be better off looking at flats somewhere less conspicuous." Came a low voice from behind me, I quickly turned around on the spot. I recognised him from somewhere. Where? If I had met him, It seemed unlikely I would have forgotten him. He had a defined face with a cut-glass jaw, curly black hair and ice grey eyes, a slim black suit over skinny leg jeans. I liked him already, there was something else in his eyes, they looked as if they belonged to and old wise man who had seen so much. But he barely looked older than 25. "Who are you?" I said coldly, if he knew me, I could possibly owe him something. He gave a brief, cocky smile "Sherlock Holmes." He offered me his hand to shake, I never turned down a hand shake. It was rarity in my particular brand of borderline criminal activity. "And why do you say that?" I enquired. He raised his eyebrows "You have a rather a rather full plastic bag of £20 notes leaning out of your backpack."

"Oh, that's just some inheritance money I asked for in cash." I lied casually. Pulling the backpack off. And hastily jambing the cash back in again, securely zipping it up. I was usually so careful, what was with me today? Now this man, whoever he was, would know I hadn't acquired it legally. Who goes around with £100,00 sticking out of their black backpack? As I stood up I realised who he was, he'd been in the newspapers, on TV. He was considered a genius, he was ' The worlds only consulting detective'. He solved cases from virtually no evidence and connected impossible events to one another. Did he know what I did? Or was this purely a coincidence? There was something else, he looked so sure of himself. He didn't look armed, his jacket looked too tight to have any room for guns, but you should never assume these things. I instantly regretted taking off my bullet proof jacket again. He smirked again. "Your jacket, one of the pockets is inside out, you rushed to put it on and your hair is a mess. Even though it's 2 o'clock in the afternoon, so you must have had to do a quick change. End of a shift perhaps? But why the rush, you didn't have anyway to go, seeing as your browsing estate agents in the richest part of London. Then there's the circles in the palm of your hands were you've been holding casino chips not long ago." I didn't say a word. Suddenly he leaped forwards, grabbing my ankle and studying my shoe, wiping a layer of dust off with his finger. He jumped upright again, "Not to mention the roof tile dust on your shoes." He sniffed his fingers "1965, So, you were in Barnet I presume?" I stood gob smacked, how could he possibly know all of that, I don't even remember him looking at my hands. "Am I right?" He asked impatiently. I nodded severely, there didn't seem any point lying. I opened my mouth to speak, but Sherlock interrupted, "I'm not done yet." He glanced around at the quiet street. "You were at a illicit gambling meeting, involving the exchange of drugs and large quantities of money, there was a drugs raid, you ran out across several roofs and caught the first bus, leaving you here. So when a stranger gives you advice about buying properties, you whip around in shock." I stared at him, "I don't do, sell or hold any form of drugs."

"You certainly haven't recently, there's no powder around your fingers or nose, your breath is clear, and your pupils are not diluted. Presides, you're a young female who's reasonably attractive, you clearly posses large quantities of money, your part of an undercover gambling club, and you have a knack of escaping from the police. The ring on your left hand, it's the 2005 graduation ring of Hampton Court House, an independent private school in north London for 2-16s, with fees of over £15,000 a year. So you had well-off parents, however much there is now, there wouldn't have been any violence at your school. So it seems unlikely you would have ever of taken drugs." I swallowed, this was impossible, what else did he know about me? "How did you know about the raid?" I asked. "I have contacts in the police force who did a drugs raid this morning in Barnet. It should be over by now." He said confidently, smirking again. His cockiness was beginning to annoy me now, even if he was right. "So why are you here?" Was the only comeback I could come up with. "Much like you, passing the time, and avoiding people."

"Why would you want to avoid people?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. Sherlock sighed "Long story, I'll see you again, Scarlett." He turned to walk away "How did you know my name?" I called after him. "It was on the inside of your backpack." He called back, without even turning. I stared after him as he caught a taxi and disappeared around the corner. What had just happened?


	2. Chapter 2 My Brother

_2 Weeks Later_

_**Chapter 2 Preface**_

It was a dark street in north London, 7 people held guns, all of them were pointed at somebody. There had been a bet, one person had cleared the table of cash. They'd been knocked out while they tried to leave, 3 of the people had divided it up between themselves. Now there was a huge argument, no guns fired, just pointed. Most of them needed the money to pay off urgent debts. However one of the people was there out of habit, rather than necessity. She had a large black cloak that covered most of her face, skinny leg jeans and long-sleeved black t-shirt with a thick-looking waistcoat that had a silk finish over the top. She had a gun in each hand and argued that everyone should get a fair share of the money. But her words were hollow. She was bored.

**Chapter 2: **

I'll be honest, I'm in a bit of mess. I usually don't get involved in shoot-outs but I was bored. Presides, the 'fashion' waist coat I had on was supposed to be bullet proof. It didn't mean it was going to protect me from a head or leg shots. Tonight was a bad idea, I should have atleast made more of an effort not to look like a girl. When they're in fights, girls think differently to boys, and boys know it, which is why it gives me an edge to not dress like one. But they were drunk, angry, soon one of them was going to shoot. I could just duck under hedge now, flee though somebody's garden and make it back to my newly acquired flat. But I stayed, and argued. I was bored.

One of three who had taken the cash from the original winner called out, "Look guys, I don't know about you, but I don't want to end up dead on the ground tonight, why don't we all just walk away?" A girl with blond hair and white skinny leg jeans began to back away, nobody tried to stop her, her hands had been trembling. Another guy, with a bench hoodie and jeans half way down his bum pointed both of his guns directly at the guy who had just spoken. " Look Steve, If I don't get my share of what you have tonight, I'll be dead on the ground tomorrow morning anyway. So I'm not leaving without it." So that was his name, I hadn't been listening before. People have to introduce themselves as the game begins, but I'm usually too busy counting cards. "Yeah Steve, just divide it up, then we'll all go home happy, it's only got to go 6 ways now." I interrupted, hoping Steve didn't shoot me. I seen him around before, he'd already spent time for attempted manslaughter. He would pull the trigger if he had to. A couple of the others muttered in agreement, but one of them walked right up to Steve and put his gun just a few centimetres away from his head. "Just hand it over, right now." He stated, coldly. I sighed internally, there was no way anyone could just walk away from this peacefully now. Suddenly, it seemed everyone was yelling. I'd best leave them to it, I turned and began to run away, as soon as I turned my first corner everything would be fine, suddenly a figure stepped round the corner he had floor length coat and icy grey eyes "Sherlo..." The word wasn't out of my mouth before I heard the gunshot, the bullet hit me squarely in the back. I fell forwards, I guess this waist coat wasn't as bullet-proof as the shop had promised. My hands stopped my face from hitting the ground, I moaned "Damn you fashion." Somebody had my hand, it was Sherlock. I knew what he would do, he was good guy, the rest of them would have fled by now. "If you want me to live, don't call an ambulance..." I muttered, trying to sound as sincere as possible. I blacked out, I vaguely remember being dragged a bit, then carried, then carried by two people. It was all a bit vague. I guess what I said seemed like a contradiction in terms, but hopefully Sherlock would take it literally.

The next thing I new I was on a mattress, my head had been turn to the side, someone had taken off my not-so-bullet-proof waist coat and lift the back of my shirt up and some cold cream was being dabbed on gently. There was some talking too, I decided to listen, just before I 'came round'. There was another man, just the one, he was the one dabbing the freezing cream, whatever it was.

"Come on Sherlock, who is she?"

"She's the daughter of someone very rich, who somehow ended up in a illicit gambling ring, and then got shot as a result of it."

"Well why didn't you call an ambulance and let them deal with it?"

"She asked me not to."

"But you've only just met her."

"She's interesting."

"What? Why Sherlock, what aren't you telling me?" Sherlock sighed, "Isn't it obvious John?"

"No Sherlock, no it's not."

"She was born with money, was placed in a posh school where she could easily have got a good career, but she chose not to. She chose to live her life on the line as if she has no choice, so maybe she's protecting someone? A close friend or family perhaps."

"Yes, or maybe she's protecting _herself _ from the police."

"Did you not look at her at all John?"

"Of course I did Sherlock, she's my patient." Sherlock sighed again. "Well I guess you never heard her speak.." Sherlock didn't bother continuing. Suddenly, the other man, John fixed a bandage down on my side and began feeding it underneath my stomach, again and again. I should have sat up to make it easier but I was still half asleep... and I wanted to see if Sherlock was going to say anything else. He didn't. John finished and pulled the back of my shirts back down. He and Sherlock walked away shutting a door behind them. My eyes flung open, I was in a bedroom, I was lying on a double bed with plain blue sheets and green wallpaper, I sat up, I looked around, there was a framed periodic table, and other various framed diploma-shaped things, one of them was in Chinese. The door was on my right, it was made of plain white-stained wood. I could the ruffle of papers and irritating clicks as somebody used a touch pad on a laptop in the next room. I closed my eyes again.

When I next awoke it was light, I realised I must've nabbed either Sherlock or John's bed. Feeling guilty I vaguely decided I should get up and apologise. As I stood up a throbbing headache kicked in. "Oww." I moaned, roughly pulling he door open. "Hello?" I called out before I had stepped though the door. Sherlock was lying on a sofa opposite reading a paper with a blue dressing gown over his creased-looking clothes from yesterday. John, on the other had had jeans and a much-worn looking leather jacket. Sherlock put down his paper and John turned to speak "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine I think, what happened? Thank you, by the way." John stood up, "The bullet was significantly slowed down by your jacket, it was barely embedded in your skin. However it hit the side of you spine, which presumably was what caused you to black it. It doesn't look like it caused any significant damage. Once the original wound has healed up, if you experience any recurring pain, I would strongly suggest you go and see a surgeon." he paused for a moment, then continued, turning his head sightly to the side. "Yes, actually, why _did_ you tell Sherlock he couldn't call an ambulance?" He stated coldly. I swallowed and glanced awkwardly around the room. There was a junk everywhere: A cork board crammed with clipped articles, photographs and notes. Science equipment lying everywhere, notebooks and general clutter. Two laptops rested on the desk, there was a skull on the mantel piece. The adjoining kitchen was filled with boxes, plastic bags containing tiny samples and a expensive-looking microscope was set up. "Well?" John asked, impatiently. What was the point in lying to them, they had saved my life after all. I looked over at Sherlock, he was staring at me, probably analysing everything I was doing. "I'm protecting my brother." That was simple and, innocent. But I had said it. The first time I had, to anyone. Surely even Sherlock couldn't work out who he was, he didn't even know my real name. "Why not just turn him in after everything he has done?" Stated Sherlock, staring straight at me. John scrunched up his face, looking confused "What?" Sherlock smiled "Oh nothing." I stared, "My brother is no concern of yours." Sherlock took a step forward, slipping off his dressing gown. "Oh, I'm sure." He straightened his jacket, considering for moment, smiling again "Tea?" I sat down on the nearest chair "Thanks." He headed into the kitchen, John stared after him "You never make tea!"

"I do!" He called back, furiously grabbing mugs and filling the kettle up with water. I turned back to John "I know you don't trust me."

"You're right." He replied, raising is eyebrows. "I don't expect you ever will, but know that I am always grateful for what you have done, I owe you." John nodded as if I had just told him my favourite colour. I turned back to Sherlock who was sitting on the kitchen table, staring at the slowly boiling kettle. "I should be going." I never linger in one place for too long, certainly not a place where questions are asked, certainly not a place that contains Sherlock Holmes. I got up to leave, "Where is my cloak and stuff?" John smirked "You mean your disguise and your loaded guns? We confiscated them."

"Right." I said miserably, it didn't matter. But I'd better get replacements this afternoon though, just to be on the safe side. I only had my my rather military looking assault-rifle at home. I headed downstairs. As I reached the door, I heard I noise behind me, I swung around. It was only a little old lady, she had short styled hair and old-fashioned prim dress. "Are you alright my dear?"

"I'm fine." I breathed in, long walk home. "Whatever Sherlock said, don't let it get to you, he's like that all the time." I sighed, "I know."

I opened the door and flagged down the first cab I saw, "Brixton please." I never give my exact address, just to be on the safe side. The flat I'd got recently, it was nice. I knew the landlord, he was nice too, never asked questions, he knew a good doctor too, who didn't ask questions either. But he wasn't there when I got shot, unfortunately. I banged my head against the seat "Do. Not. Get. Involved. In. Shoot-outs. You. Idiot." I moaned to myself. The cab driver laughed. "What was that sweetheart?" I recognised that voice. I swallowed, we were going the wrong way for Brixton... "Where are you taking me?"

"A little place I like to call home."

"We're on the wrong continent for that. _Where_ are you taking me?" I heard him sigh. "You always have to ask boring questions, you know that?" I laughed hollowly, "Fine, as long I can have some guns to hold." He laughed "As many as you want." We eventually arrived at some sort of multi story car park. He drove to the top level and abandoned the taxi right in the middle, it was deserted. Before I could get out, he was holding the door open for me, grinning. "Elizabeth!" I hugged him "Jim! Long time, no see. Criminals treating you well then?" I said, in a sarcastic voice. He rolled his eyes. "Of course, not that I always return the gesture." I sighed, this is how it always started. Just a brother and a sister glad to see each other. But one of us always wanted something, seeing as he abducted me, he must want something this time. He smiled "Sis, changed your mind yet?" I rolled my eyes. "No." He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged "You will, one day!" His voice went high at the end of the sentence. "Stop being immature." He made a mock hurt face "I'm not being immature, I'm having fun, you should try it sometime." I swallowed "What do you want? And do you have any guns I can have?"

"I want doesn't get. I'm getting to that, and yes I have some, give me a moment." He pulled out his iPhone, calling somebody "I'll have a big case full of hand guns please." He winked at me. I sat down on the tarmac. Thankful that I had bumped into my brother for once, buying guns was getting harder and harder.

I knew I would meet Sherlock again. He would make sure of that. Perhaps I should consider some deeper cover for while, get out of London maybe. My brother paced up and down "Look, I don't care if you're being shot at by the police. If you don't get me what I want within the hour, I will find you, and burn your children." He rolled his eyes at me, mouthing 'sorry' at me. "Right, see you soon then." He slid his phone back into his pocket. "They will be along.. Now!" he jumped forwards and sat down next to me. "Sherlock Holmes." I swallowed, "Sorry about that." he turned towards me. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing." I stated, blankly. He put his face in his hands, mumbling something incoherent. He stared angrily at the worn tarmac "When do you plan to see him again?" I stood up, the wind rose to a sudden forceful gust, making me take step backwards. "I don't James. I may leave London." He snorted. "No you won't." I sighed "Fine, but I don't exactly want him as a pal. He knows so much, just from just looking at me." Jim smiled "Did he get the ring?" My mouth formed a half smile "He did, I didn't bother to correct him." My brother stood up, putting his hands in his pockets. "I want to propose something." I nodded "The answer is almost certainly no."

"Whatever." He sighed. "I owe Sherlock Holmes a fall." I shrugged "Why would I care?"

He put his chin on his chest and stared at me. "If you do this little thing for me, I can offer you full protection."

I sat back down. Since we left high school. I've always known what my brother is, a criminal. Or a consulting criminal as he calls himself. His name is down for so many crimes, but like me, he has a knack for escaping from the police. As he got older, he quickly got more established. When criminals wanted a hand, they turned to him. He wanted me to join him, we could work together. I've always said no. When you get to know people like him, things get serious. In his life, other peoples life's mean nothing. He doesn't care who lives and dies, apart from me, apparently. He's never said, but of course he's been involved in murders, I expect he's killed his fair share of people, be it directly or indirectly. Bad citizen I may be. But I'm not a killer. When he first started getting into crimes, I was taken in for questioning. I realised that if I didn't join him, I would have to change my name. So I did, but then the police caught up with me again. The secret services know about people like my brother. I don't quite have his escaping ability. They were going to interrogate me, force me to tell them information about my brother. Jim got me out, of course he did. But I wasn't going to risk it again. I went officially missing. I never go to banks, hospitals, anything. I don't have a job or a bank account, no form of I.D. I'm about as off the records as you can get, I've been missing, officially, for five years, my family is Ireland. But having no job means you need to earn money another way, and more often than not, it's illegal.

"What is it?" I replied, boredly. My brother smirked "Find Sherlock Holmes, and tell him anything he wants to know about me." I raised my eyebrows "What?"

"Well... Not quite everything, but I think you know what to leave out." I nodded "And?" My brother shrugged "That's it." I stared at him "There's always something else." He smirked "Nothing else... For now.

"See that's the thing Jim, I can't trust you." He raised his eyebrows "If you don't the police will pay you a visit tonight, and something nasty might just happen to your landlord." He gave him the most dirty look I could muster, I would have to agree now. My landlord, Dave, is a good bloke, I will not be responsible for his murder. "Fine, but it doesn't mean you and me are on any better terms."He looked up at the sky "One day." Before I had a chance to speak a blacked out mini van came around the corner. Two men jumped out and flung open the back doors, carrying out a huge case. Jim pointed at my feet they dropped the case and ran back to their van. It had a metal outer which had been painted expensively to make it look shiny and MI5isque. I slid open the huge metal catch and lifted the lid backwards. It had a velvet lining, with at least 12 different hand guns, down the side was another small case, inside that was a large selection of ammunition. I couldn't help but grin. My brother didn't seem interested "Take whatever you want." I turned to face him "Can we get this in the back of the taxi?" I asked raising my eyebrows and grinning mischievously. It's funny how things like this make me feel as if it's just me and my little brother plotting some mad scheme at boarding school, that involved somebody getting coated in custard and/or jam. He shrugged again, "Whatever." I dragged the case into the car, my brother not lifting finger. That's what made me feel so cold really, he's not my brother who would listen to my ideas and help me. He won't listen to me when I tell him he's gone to far. As far as he's concerned, I'm below him now.


End file.
